


Field Notes From Finland

by Kiraly



Series: Dreamworld Ladies [1]
Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Diary/Journal, Epistolary, F/F, Illustrated, dream world shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 16:21:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9333158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiraly/pseuds/Kiraly
Summary: In Year 93, Tuuri receives a letter from a fellow researcher.In Year 30, an intrepid explorer sets out to discover what she can about Finland...and, most importantly, Finnish magic. A certain Finn agrees to help. Sometimes she actually does.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Minutia_R](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minutia_R/gifts).



> Wow, this treat got away from me! I couldn't resist when I saw this in your Silent Night requests, the idea was too interesting to leave alone. I hope you like it!
> 
> Many thanks to Laufey for her input on Icelandic names (I'm getting better at figuring out patronymics, but input from someone who actually knows is amazingly helpful!) And thanks to Elleth for beta-reading and encouraging me along the way, you're the best! <3

_Y93_  
_Nordic Council Headquarters, Reykjavik_ _  
_ Attn: Tuuri Hotakainen

_Ms. Tuuri,_

_I received your letter and appreciate your enthusiasm in this matter. You are not the first to express an interest in my aunt’s early work—in point of fact, I receive questions on the subject quite often—but your name and the specific nature of your question caught my attention. Upon looking through the files again, I found some which may interest you. They are relevant not for historical reasons, but for personal ones, which I am sure you will understand once you have read them. My aunt’s more official writings from that time are collected in a book—I’m certain you’re familiar with the Finland volume of her Nations of the Known World collection. I believe, having read the files I’m sending you now, that we have your family to thank for much of the information on Finnish magic._

_Good luck with your research, and do let me know if you find anything else of interest._

_Sincerely,_

_Ásný Geirsdóttir_

_Historical Archives_ _  
_ _Academy of Seiður, Reykjavik_

 

 

**From the files of Rúna Snorradóttir: Explorer, Historical Researcher, and Student of Modern Anthropology**

**Year 30 Finland Expedition - Field Notes**

**Day One**

I made it! After months of languishing with the godless Swedes (note to self: do not use this description in the final draft) I finally found a vessel that was willing to take me across to Finland. I paid dearly for the privilege, of course—a crate of fruit from the greenhouses back home, and half of my remaining coffee supply—but it will be worth it. Imagine, I’m the first Icelander to set foot on Finnish soil in thirty years!

Of course, I’ve only been on Finnish soil for about an hour, waiting to transfer ships at the port of Pori. Nearly everyone I’ve spoken to recommends that I continue on to Keuruu, (which, as a military base, is doubtless the safest part of this backward country) but I have other ideas. Any Finn could tell me about their military structure. The information I’m after lies farther afield, in the scattered islands of lake Saimaa. Magic! They claim the Finns are blessed with it, and in ways unheard of back home. I don’t see how, when by all accounts they follow neither Freyja nor Óðinn. But I suppose that’s what I’m here to find out.

In any case, I’ve never been terribly concerned with safety. Why would the gods bless me twice over if they did not intend for me to use their gifts? The rash cannot harm me. Freyja sends visions as I walk in dreams. Surely I’m meant to go out and make something of myself. Finding the truth of these forest people, uncovering their secrets, seems like a good start.

They’re calling us to board for Saimaa—I’ll finish this off for now.

* * *

 

**Day Two**

After the night voyage from Pori (the beds were bad, but no worse than the ones in Norway, and Finns are considerably quieter) we arrived in Saimaa early this morning. I bid my fellow passengers farewell—they largely didn’t respond—and made my way into the town. So many wooden buildings! I’ve seen such things elsewhere in my travels, but it never ceases to amaze me.

Another thing which is beyond comprehension: the Finnish language. I’ve attempted to learn it; I picked up Norwegian easily enough, so I should have had no trouble. But the truth is, Finnish is just _odd._ So if I’m going to learn anything here, I’ll need a translator. Easier said than done, in a place like this. Luckily, one of the crew from the boat that brought me here speaks Swedish, and he suggested a likely starting point. There’s a public eating house of some sort in town, and off-duty scouts gather there. If I can find one who speaks even a few words of a civilized language, I’ll be set.

Signing off for now. I’ll add to this later if I have any success.

* * *

 

 **Day Two - Later**  
_[Editor’s note: As the following section is nearly illegible, a transcription has been provided.]_

Thor’s BALLS, these Finns can DRINK. Their alcohol tastes like horse piss (not that I know what that tastes like) but they just put it away like it’s water. I...may have had too much. A bit. But it’s all good because I FOUND SOMEONE!!!

It was all thanks to my brilliant powers of persusiisa—persisis—persuasion. And my big mouth. Thank the gods most of the people in that place didn’t understand a word I said, or I’d probably have worse than bruises. Oh! That’s right, I didn’t say—I got in a BAR FIGHT! A small one. Okay, really it was just two of us, but the other guy was pretty fast and I’ve never really fought a person before. (Or a troll, for that matter, except that rat beast the one time.) ANYWAY, you would think I’d be no stranger to fights because of that time in Norway, but no. The trick to Norwegians is, if they look like they want to fight you, offer them a drink and they turn into your best friend. THIS DOES NOT WORK WITH FINNS. They will take the booze, drink it, and then KEEP FIGHTING YOU.

So this guy and I were having it out (that spilled drink was NOT my fault) and I was shouting all kinds of things because hey, language barriers are good for something, and then this lady in the corner just...laughs. And the whole bar goes quiet, except for the guy trying to punch me. So she stands up, walks over, GRABS HIM by the collar, and slams him into the wall. Still laughing the whole time. She turns to me, and I think she’s going to sling me into the wall right after him.

But no. Instead, she stops laughing and says, “You’re right, his mother _was_ a rash-beast moose. How did you know?” In _Icelandic_. I’m so surprised I forget how to talk, but she keeps going. “What is a foreigner like you doing here, anyway? No one comes to Saimaa.”

“It’s a long story,” I say. And then, in a stroke of genius, “Can I buy you a drink and tell you about it?”

Another tip about Finns: Like Norwegians, they will never turn down a free drink.

So that’s how I found a translator AND a guide all in one fell swoop, because this lady, Ensi Hotakannen (Hotakinnen? Hotakainen? Note to self, ask her for spelling when less drunk) is a scout in addition to speaking Icelandic. Apparently her father studied it in the days Before, and taught her when she was a child. She has an accent, and of course there are some gaps in her vocabulary—she gave me a funny look when I asked about mages—but her skill is far better than I’d hoped for.

We’re meeting tomorrow to gather supplies, and leaving the next day for one of the smaller islands. My plan is to take note of the natural features—plants, beasts, Beasts if we run across any—and try to subtly question the locals about their magic. I’d intended to go exploring in my dreams tonight, but I’m just sober enough to know that’s a BAD idea. I’ll wait until we’re on our way.

Time to sleep it off and hopefully have non-magic dreams of surly Finns getting slammed into walls. _Gods,_ that woman is _strong._

__

_Figure 1: A most mysterious Finn_

* * *

 

**Day 5**

Haven’t written for a few days. Plans for departure kept me busy. It _should_ have been a simple matter to collect what we needed and be on our way, but a certain Finn made things...complicated.

First of all, we seem to have different definitions of ‘necessary’ when it comes to supplies. Extra paper, pens, ink, reference books for comparison: clearly these are vital for a proper research expedition. Ensi disagrees, and furthermore does not accept that coffee is useful for trading and also keeping intrepid explorers awake in the morning. She turned up her nose when I offered to let her taste some, and tried to toss the bag over the side of the boat when she thought I wasn’t looking. For my part, I fail to understand what good a musical instrument will do any of us. As everyone knows, silence is the best defence against trolls.

The music thing came up again as we prepared to board the boat. At first, Ensi flatly refused. She wouldn’t move at all until I got off and stood back. Then she spread her hands, closed her eyes, and started to sing. The strangest thing is, everyone else just stood there and watched, silent, until she was done. Then she got on the boat like nothing happened, and wouldn’t answer any of my questions.  

Still no new information on Finnish magic. Now that we’ve established our base camp, maybe I can try to do some dream scouting. Surely, if the Finns really _do_ have magic, they’ll have some kind of presence in the dream world. I guess I’ll find out tonight.

_Figure 2: Finnish instrument called a "kantele". Very important, apparently._

* * *

 

**Day 6 - Dream Journal**

The Finns _do_ have a presence in the dream world. I’m sure of it, because I found a space quite near mine that looks like the forests around here. Trees, water, wooden boards laid to facilitate walking. (At first I didn’t understand why anyone would need that in the dream world, where you can just walk on top of the water, but the water in this Finnish haven doesn’t act right. How odd).

Odder still, the place was deserted. Not like the inhabitant was awake, but like they were...hiding. I can’t imagine why, I’m not exactly intimidating. I don’t see any signs of their fylgja either, so perhaps it is hiding too. I guess I’ll just have to try again another night, and see if I can catch them.

* * *

 

**Day 7**

Ensi seems very annoyed at me for some reason. More annoyed than usual. She’s fine whenever I ask questions about the plants or animals we’ve encountered, or when she has to explain some process (like how they build the wooden houses). But when I try to find out about people, she clams up. This goes double for magic, though I’m still not convinced this isn’t a language barrier problem.

She also seems to be going out of her way to avoid meeting other people. This island is tiny, it’s not like it has a huge population—but whenever we hear the sounds of someone off in the distance, she frowns and takes us in another direction. We did stumble on a pair of hunters once, and they seemed willing enough to talk. I got some fascinating data about beast migration, but then I asked about magic and...well. Ensi said _something,_ and the other two started to look really nervous. They left not long after, claiming (through Ensi’s translation) to have somewhere to be. They kept saying the word “noita” which I’ve heard before but never in a context I could understand. When I asked Ensi, she refused to speak to me for the rest of the day.

Still no sign of that Finnish mage whose dream space I found. I’ll keep trying.

* * *

 

**Day 8 - Dream Journal**

Caught a glimpse of the mysterious mage from a distance. Couldn’t see any distinguishing features, just an impression of long legs and a furry hooded cloak. They ran off and disappeared before I could get closer.

* * *

 

**Day 9**

Raining. Usually I wouldn’t mind, but everything interesting has gone into hiding, including the people. Ensi seems determined not to speak to me. In a fit of desperation, I even asked her to play that odd instrument she carries—a “kantele”, she called it—and she went white with fury. She didn’t say a word, just stood up and stalked out into the downpour. She came back a few hours later with only a squirrel to show for it, both of them looking half-drowned.

Her expression dared me to comment on her sad appearance. I refrained. In all honesty, apart from the wet hair, I thought she looked just fine once she shed her layers and got into a dry sweater. Do you know, I think this is the first time I’ve seen her looking...well, human? It suits her.

I didn’t tell her that, either.

Turning in early tonight. Maybe the dream world will treat me better than the waking one.

_Figure 3: Ensi manages to look good even soaking wet. How?_

* * *

 

**Day 10 - Dream Journal**

I FOUND THE OTHER MAGE!!!!

I’m thrilled. And also FURIOUS because how DARE she hide from me all this time? All those unanswered questions, all the times I thought there was a translation problem—no. Gods-damned Finns and their gods-damned secrets, DELIBERATELY wasting my time. I should fire her and find someone new, but I doubt there _is_ anyone else. Definitely no one who’d be willing to work for what I offered her. And anyway, letting her go would be so unsatisfying, compared to grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her until she explains herself.

It’s Ensi, of course. The other mage. She was RIGHT HERE the whole time. I can’t believe I didn’t notice—but I shouldn’t have _had_ to, she should have _told_ me! But instead she’s been sneaking around, hiding from me in the dream world every night. I only discovered her this time because she was so worn out from tromping around in the rain, she didn’t get out of her haven before I fell asleep. So I found her, and of course I was upset—but for some reason SHE was upset, too? She yelled at me for invading her space, for poking around in places where I don’t belong. That’s ridiculous, and I told her so—I’m _supposed_ to dig around and find things out! That’s what researchers do!

(On the subject of research—Ensi shows no trace of accent in the dream world. Interesting.)

The rest of the argument doesn’t bear recording. Nothing much to report about the day so far, either. Ensi hasn’t spoken to me since we woke up—nothing new there—and I’m not inclined to speak to her either. And it’s raining again, _of course._

* * *

 

**Day 11**

Raining again. Still not speaking to Ensi. She spent most of the day out in the woods, and I spent mine going stir-crazy at camp. Can’t focus on my notes. Can’t focus on much of anything.

* * *

 

**Day 12**

Still raining. Nothing else to report.

* * *

 

**Day 13**

More rain.

* * *

 

**Day 14**

If I had known the climate of Finland was so...so MOIST, I would have found somewhere better to spend my summer. The bottom of the ocean, maybe. My mood has grown worse by the day, in no small part because Ensi seems to thrive in the rain. She’s been out and about, probably doing secret Finnish mage things. Not that I care.

Okay, so I care a little bit. After all this time, I actually have a Finnish mage RIGHT HERE, and she won’t talk to me! I’m going mad with frustration. There are a thousand questions I want to ask, but I refuse to be the first to break the silence. I can wait.

Óðinn help me though, if this rain doesn’t stop soon I will do something I regret.

* * *

 

**Day 15**

Well. This is quite a development. Probably not one that will go in the official file. Still, writing it down will help me...process.

It started this afternoon. The rain slackened off—not by much, but enough that I thought I could attempt a cookfire. Days on end of cold rations and cold tent and giving Ensi the cold shoulder—I just needed something to warm me up. So while Ensi was off doing her mage thing, I laid a fire and tried—key word, _tried_ —to light it. And tried to light it again. And tried. And tried.

When Ensi came back, she found me kicking the wood into kindling, screaming at the sky while the rain soaked through my clothes. Maybe she felt sorry for me. Maybe she just hadn’t realized the extent of my vocabulary. (Languages come easily to me. Foul language comes easily to everyone). In any case, she took one look at me, dropped her kill on the ground (another sodden squirrel, no loss there) and ducked into the tent. She came out a few minutes later with her pack, fully loaded and ready for travel.

A small part of me, the bit that wasn’t occupied with swearing, assumed she had finally given up on me. That this was her way of telling me she was going. But she didn’t. Instead, she waited for me to stop yelling and nodded at the tent.

“Pack up. We’re going.”

I didn’t even bother asking where. I was too tired, too beaten down by days of rain and cold and stewing in my own misery. I went to the tent and packed my things.

We walked through the woods, and I’m ashamed to say I wasn’t at my most observant. If a troll had jumped out at us, I probably wouldn’t have noticed until I was dead. But nothing attacked, and after a while Ensi started to talk. It wasn’t anything big, just small observations about the terrain, or wildlife she noticed. The kind of thing she’d talked about before. If I hadn’t been so miserable, I would have taken it as a sign of hope.

Still, even in my addled state, I couldn’t help but stare in wonder when we reached our destination. Of all the things I’d expected to find in the Finnish wilderness...let’s just say a houseboat wasn’t on the list. Apparently Ensi was expecting it though, because she led the way up the gangplank without a backward glance.

I half-expected the boards to give way under my feet, because this boat was clearly old—maybe even a remnant of the Old World, judging by some of the materials. But it seemed someone had been taking care of it over the years. The deck held. And when Ensi unlocked the door and waved me inside, there was no sign of water damage—the roof is sound. Sweet Freyja, it’s _dry_ in here! I could sing.

But for now, I’ll settle for getting out of these wet clothes and into bed. (Yes, you read that right, there is an ACTUAL BED in here. Amazing what passes for luxury after weeks of sleeping on the ground). Ensi and I...haven’t really talked yet. And we do need to talk. But we can do that once we’re asleep.

_Figure 4: A mysterious houseboat. A bit rusty, but better than a tent._

* * *

 

**Day 16 - Dream Journal**

This one is DEFINITELY not going in the official file.

When we crawled into bed, I thought—well, I assumed tonight would finally be the night Ensi would give me some answers. And to be fair, she did. Just...not in the way I expected.

I found her in her dream space, sitting cross-legged on a raft and playing her kantele. Apparently she has it in her dreams, too. She didn’t tell me to go—didn’t say anything. So I sat down, and waited.

I’m not very good at waiting.

“Where are we?” I asked.

“My dream area.” She didn’t even look up, but I caught a hint of a smirk. Dammit, Ensi.

“I meant in the waking world! This isn’t just some abandoned boat you stumbled across, is it?”

“No.” I thought I would have to pry it out of her, but then, “It’s a special place. Safe.”

“So...like...a special mage place? Is this where you’ve been going?”

That question got a glare in response. “No. It’s not a _mage_ place. It’s _mine.”_ She said “mage” like a dirty word.

“I’m sorry! I don’t know...why won’t you talk to me about magic? Look at us! We’re both here, in our dreams, talking to each other! Don’t you see what an opportunity this is?”

Ensi stood. “An opportunity? For what, your research?” She shook her head. “This isn’t something you note down and put in a book, Rúna. It comes from the gods.”

She said my name. That was a first.

“Of course it’s from the gods. What does that have to do with writing things down?” I asked, standing to face her. “Talking to the gods—that’s what runes are _for._ If we didn’t write them down, they wouldn’t work!”

Ensi blinked. “You _write_ your runos?”

“No, not runos, _runes._ You know, the galdrastafur?” At Ensi’s blank stare, I undid the brooch holding my cloak closed and handed it to her. “Like that.”

Ensi traced the rune lines, brow furrowed. “This...is your magic?”

“Of course. What, does that mean yours isn’t…?”

She shook her head. “Magic is...seeing spirits. Guiding them. Speaking to them, and to the gods.”

“But you don’t use runes?”

“Runos.” She pointed to her discarded kantele. “We sing. Sometimes we play. We don’t _write it down.”_

Music as magic. Of course. No wonder she’d insisted on bringing her kantele.

“So when you do the runos...when you sing them, I mean—”

“Rúna.” My name, again, spoken softly. Ensi stepped closer.

“What? I have so many questions, I—”

 _“Rúna.”_ Closer still. I could see the sharp jut of her cheekbones, and something stirring in her eyes—the same wildness from the night we met, when she threw a man into a wall. “Stop talking.”

Well. Given that direction, what else could I do? I kissed her.

Like I said, this one is NOT going in the official file.

I’ve kissed people before, of course. Enough of them that I could probably add it to my file of cultural study, if I thought such things would ever be printed. Icelanders kiss in the usual way, of course—casually between friends, or more thoroughly between those who are more than friends. Swedes always seem to want to talk about it afterwards, which gets old. Danes want to talk about it before _and_ after, which is why I tend to avoid kissing them. Norwegians don’t care, of course—they’ll kiss you one minute and fight you the next, or the other way around. (See previous note about buying them drinks).

Finns, though. Never kissed a Finn. Sweet Freyja, have I been missing out. Ensi kisses the same way she does everything—intense, unexpected, perfect. I can say this with authority, because when I stopped kissing her she started kissing me, and then there was no telling who started or stopped. (Repetition is the key to successful research, so really I was being scientific).

Eventually Ensi pushed me away though, holding me at arm’s length. “We should wake up,” she said.

I protested, of course. But she made some good points (and, okay, some of those points were emphasized by more kisses) and eventually convinced me.

We woke up in our shared bed, still lying distant from each other like we had been when we went to sleep. That was soon remedied.

* * *

 

**Day 16 - Addendum**

We didn’t do much sleeping after that, of course. Too much to talk about.

Yes. Talking. That’s what happened.

Much later, when the sky brightened enough that we could see each other clearly, I remembered something else I wanted to ask.

“Ensi,” I said, “What does ‘noita’ mean? Every time we meet someone, they call you that.”

Ensi left off fiddling with my hair—she’d been unbraiding and rebraiding it for a while—and laid a finger on my chest, right in the spot where my brooch had rested. “In Icelandic, you call yourselves...seiðkona. Right?”

I leaned into her touch. “Yes. Or seiðkarl, for men. Not many of those, though.”

Ensi nodded. With her free hand, she caught my wrist and drew my hand to her own chest. “Noita,” she said, letting me go.

My fingers danced along her collarbone. “Noita.” Her skin warmed beneath my touch. “Seiðkona.” A shared smile.

“You know something? I think that’s one Finnish word I’m actually going to remember.”

_Figure 5: An intrepid explorer and her stalwart companion._

* * *

 

_Final Editor’s Note:_

_So here it is—the account of how my aunt met your grandmother. You can see why she preferred to keep it out of the public eye; Aunt Rúna was rather private about some things, even if she did write EVERYTHING down._

_In any case, I hope this will help you in your effort to learn more about your grandmother’s life. She seems to have been an exceptional woman. And from one researcher to another, I know what it’s like to grow up in the shadow of one of those._

_If there’s anything else I can do for you, do not hesitate to ask._

_Regards,_ _  
_ _Ásný Geirsdóttir_

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Rented Room](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10957965) by [Minutia_R](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minutia_R/pseuds/Minutia_R)




End file.
